Secret Delivery

Secret Delivery

Delores Fossen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

About the Author

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Copyright

Imagine a family tree that includes Texas cowboys, Choctaw and Cherokee Indians, a Louisiana pirate and a Scottish rebel who battled side by side with William Wallace. With ancestors like that, it’s easy to understand why Texas author and former air force captain Delores Fossen feels as if she were genetically predisposed to writing romances. Along the way to fulfilling her DNA destiny, Delores married an air force top gun who just happens to be of Viking descent. With all those romantic bases covered, she doesn’t have to look too far for inspiration.

Prologue

Willow Ridge, Texas

Sheriff Jack Whitley figured he had three minutes, maybe less, to save the woman’s life.

He slammed on his brakes, and his Ford pickup skidded to a stop just inches from what was left of the bridge’s ice-scabbed guardrail. Seconds earlier, a car had broken through the metal and plunged over the side. Since he’d been traveling from the opposite direction, he’d caught just a glimpse of terror on the driver’s face before Mill’s Creek had swallowed her and her car.

There was no time to remove his gun or shoes. No time to call for help. He grabbed the life hammer from his glove compartment, barreled out of his truck and, running, he dived right into the cold dark water.

Hell. He couldn’t see. The creek was thick with winter silt that concealed just about everything, but he went on instinct. At the speed the woman was traveling when she slammed through the guardrail, she was probably thirty, maybe forty feet out. He surfaced only long enough to drag in a deep breath so he could go down after her again.

Seconds ticked off in his head, each one a frantic reminder that he had to get to her. He had to save her. Now. No one, not even he, could last long in this frozen water.

He ignored the numbing cold that was starting to smother him and focused, finally spotting her black Lexus angled nose-down with the headlights and front fender already sinking into the clots of mud on the creek floor.

Jack fought through the water to get to her. She was there, behind the steering wheel, her light-colored coat billowing around her like a ghost. Her eyes were closed. Maybe she was unconscious.

Or already dead.

He pushed that possibility aside and latched on to the door handle. It was jammed.

Cursing to himself, he bashed the life hammer against the window. The sharp metal head of the emergency tool made a large enough hole so he could reach in, open the door and undo her seat belt.

The woman spilled into his arms.

He grabbed her and began to haul her to the surface. Each inch was a struggle. His lungs burned now, and his muscles began to knot. Somehow, though, he broke through the water and breathed in some much needed air, while the woman lay limp and lifeless in his arms.

Jack dragged her to the muddy embankment, tilted back her head and started mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. He literally gave her what little breath he had left.

Her eyes fluttered open. She coughed. And Jack said a very sincere prayer of thanks.

“We got lucky,” he gasped.

She opened her mouth, but didn’t speak. Her starkblue eyes widened, and the sound she made was one of raw agony.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Jack asked.

She didn’t answer. She fought with her coat, shoving it open and clamping her hands over her belly.

Jack saw then that she was pregnant. She had to be in her last trimester.

“Help me. I’m in trouble.” She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with tears, her face twisted in pain. “Please. Don’t let my baby die.”

Her words slammed into him. They’d dodged one bullet, but another was headed right at them.

Jack scooped her into his arms and ran like hell toward his truck.

Chapter One

Eight months later

Alana Davis checked the rearview mirror again. The dark-colored car was still following her. “Oh, God,” she mumbled.

It couldn’t be the security guard. It just couldn’t be. Because if he’d managed to catch up with her, Alana figured this time he would kill her.

She couldn’t stop, not even to find a pay phone and call the police. Not that there’d been a pay phone any where along the way from the secluded house in the woods where she’d been held captive. Nor was there one along the highway that had taken her nearly an hour to find. Luckily, the car she’d stolen from the front of the house had nearly a full tank of gas.

And thankfully, she’d seen the sign to the town of Willow Ridge.

The guard and a nurse had force-fed her a partial dose of sedatives only hours earlier, so it’d taken Alana a while to fight through dizziness and make the connection. Willow Ridge was just one of those floating memories that she couldn’t immediately link to anything or anyone. But then she remembered Jack Whitley, the town’s sheriff. He’d helped her.

She couldn’t remember what he’d done exactly, but she instinctively knew she could trust him.

Alana couldn’t say that about anyone else.

She certainly couldn’t trust the guard or nurse. Or her brother. In fact, one of them must have been responsible for her captivity.

But which one?

And why?

She didn’t know the answer to either question, but Jack Whitley would be able to find out.

Lightning rifled through the night sky. A few seconds later, thunder came, a thick rumbling groan. Shivering, she made the final turn that would take her to Willow Ridge. Even with the rain and her spotty vision, she could see the other vehicle make the turn right along behind her. He stayed close. Too close.

Alana added some pressure to the accelerator and sped through deep puddles that had already collected on the road. The car’s wipers slashed over the windshield, smearing the rain on the glass so it was even harder for her to see. Her pulse raced out of control.

She maneuvered the car around a sharp curve. The tires squealed in protest at the excessive speed, and she checked the mirror again. The other vehicle stayed right with her, the high-beam headlights glaring into her eyes.

It certainly wasn’t safe to race through a raging summer storm at ten o’clock at night, but she didn’t want to face that guard on this deserted road. She had no weapon, no way to defend herself. Worse, she was exhausted and wondered if she’d be able to stand, much less fight.

Ahead of her, she finally saw the town lights. Welcome signs of civilization and help.

Going even faster, she sped toward Main Street, flanked on both sides with shops, a diner, even a white church with a steeple. Letting some vague, fuzzy memories guide her, she drove toward the center of the tiny town and spotted the sheriff’s office.

Alana braked to a stop, glanced behind her and saw nothing. No car. No headlights.

No one.

Relief flooded through her. Maybe the guard had gotten scared and driven away. Still, she didn’t just sit there. He might be lurking on a side street, waiting to grab her and take her back to that house in the woods.

Rain pelted her when she got out of the car. She was already cold and shivering, and the wetness didn’t help. Alana ran toward the glass-front door of the sheriff’s office. Each step was an effort. Her muscles were stiff, her hands throbbed from where she’d gripped the steering wheel and the dizziness was worse than it had been during her escape.

Why did everything seem out of focus? And wrong. Something was wrong. But what?

She threw open the door, and the burst of air from the AC spilled over her. It was dark in the front section of the building, but there was a light on in a room at the middle of a short narrow hall.

“Sheriff Whitley?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

She saw something move in the shadows, and a moment later, a man stepped out. Alana got just a glimpse of him before another stab of lightning flashed in the sky and the lights went out.

Oh, mercy. Had the guard done this? Was he coming after her?

“Calm down,” the man said. It was Jack Whitley’s voice. “If you keep breathing like that, you’ll hyperventilate and I’m fresh out of paper bags.” She heard his footsteps come closer. “You afraid of the dark?”

“No.” Her voice still had little sound.

“Well, not to worry,” Jack said as if he didn’t believe her. “The storm must have knocked out the town’s transformer, but we have a generator. It’ll kick on in a minute or two.”

He came closer still, and she caught his scent. He smelled like coffee and chocolate cake. “Did your car break down?”

Alana’s teeth started to chatter. And she glanced back at the door to make sure the guard wasn’t there. “Someone was following me.”

Even though she couldn’t see his reaction, she could feel it. He tensed and hurried past her to go to the door. “I don’t see anyone,” he said, looking out. “Is that your car parked out front?”

“No.”

She was about to explain, but something else about him changed. The silence was heavy, making it easier to hear him draw his gun.

“I’m pretty sure the license plate matches a vehicle that was reported stolen just about an hour ago,” he informed her. “The owner said the person who stole it—a woman—should be considered armed and dangerous. I’m guessing you’re that woman, huh?”

Her heart jolted. Dizziness came again, and she had to lean against the wall to keep from falling.

This was certainly a complication Alana hadn’t expected. That guard had some nerve to report his car stolen after he’d held her captive. And better yet—to call her armed and dangerous. The guard had been the one with the gun.

“I did steal the car,” she admitted. “But I had to. They were holding me captive.”

“They?” It was his cop’s voice. Laced with skepticism and authority.

“A guard and a nurse. I don’t know their names, but I can describe them.” Well, she could if she didn’t pass out first. “They held me at a house in the woods for…a long time. But I escaped.”

“How’d you manage to do that?” He didn’t believe that, either. She could tell from his tone.

“I spit out some of the meds they always gave me at night. And I pretended to fall asleep. Then I sneaked out of my bedroom, grabbed the guard’s keys and ran. I drove away before he could stop me. But there must have been another car somewhere on the grounds, and he used it to come after me.”

Jack Whitley made a sound that could have meant anything. “I need you to turn around and place your hands flat against the wall.”

“You’re arresting me?” She clamped her teeth over her bottom lip to keep it from shaking. Too bad she couldn’t do something to stop the rest of her body from trembling. Mercy, she was freezing.

“I’m placing you in custody,” he corrected, “until I can get this straightened out. Go ahead. Hands on the wall. I need to search you.”

Alana had no idea what else to do, so she complied. The painted concrete block wall was smooth against her palms, and she rested her head against it, as well, hoping it’d help her think straight.

The overhead fluorescent lights crackled on, and she heard him walk closer. “Legs slightly apart,” he ordered. “And don’t make any sudden moves.”

Alana held her breath while he ran his left hand over her wet cotton nightgown. Down her bare legs, all the way to her equally bare feet. He repeated the process on the inside of her legs and thighs. She made a slight involuntary hitching sound when the back of his hand brushed her there. It was a reminder for her that she wasn’t wearing any panties.

The sheriff made a similar sound, but his was more of surprise. Maybe now he’d believe that she had truly escaped with literally just the gown on her back.

“I think you’ve got a fever,” he let her know. “You might be sick.”

A fever. That might explain why she felt so horrible.

“Turn around, slowly,” he said, his voice a little gentler now. “We’ll go into my office, and you can sit down. If you’re not feeling better after a few minutes, I can drive you to the hospital and have your temperature checked.”

Alana did turn, but she kept her weight against the wall in case her legs gave way. She got her first good look at the man she had thought she could trust. Now she wasn’t so sure.

It was Jack Whitley all right.

She recognized that midnight-black hair. Those intense gunmetal-blue eyes. He wore jeans and a white shirt with his badge clipped onto a wide leather belt with a rodeo buckle. Definitely a cowboy cop in both appearance and attitude.

“I told you the truth about being held hostage,” Alana insisted.

But if he heard her, there was no indication of it. His eyes widened, then narrowed. “Alana Davis?” he snarled.

“You remember me.” The intense look in his eyes was scaring her.

“Yeah. I remember you.”

Too bad she couldn’t recall exactly what she’d done to rile him. And there was no mistaking that she’d done just that. “You helped me.”

He glared at her. “Eight months ago, I pulled you from your car when you went over the bridge at Mill’s Creek.”

Yes. Images flashed through her mind. Icy water. She couldn’t breathe. Trapped in her car. She tried to make the pieces fit and finally nodded. “You saved my life.”

He didn’t take his eyes off her. “And you ran away from the hospital the first chance you got. You didn’t tell anyone why you were leaving or where you were going.”

Alana didn’t remember that at all. Why would she have done that?

“Look, I don’t know what game you’re playing, or why you showed up here like this. But it doesn’t matter,” he stated. “You’re not getting Joey back.”

“Joey?” She shook her head.

That riled him even more. “Are you saying you don’t remember him?”

Alana forced herself to concentrate on that name. Joey. But it meant nothing to her.

“I’m confused about some things. Not about being held captive,” she admitted. “Or you rescuing me from my car eight months ago. I know those things happened. But I think this fever’s making it hard for me to concentrate. ”

“Right.” That was all he said for several long moments. “I’ll call the doctor and see if he’s still at the hospital,” he grumbled.

Jack shoved his gun back into his shoulder holster, caught her arm and led her to his office. He put her in the chair adjacent to his cluttered desk, and snatched up the phone.

While Jack made a call to the doctor, Alana tried to force herself to think, to assemble the memories that were fragmented in her head.

Had she really left the hospital after Jack saved her?

“My brother,” she mumbled. Then she groaned. Maybe her brother, Sean, had heard about her accident and had done what he usually did.

Taken over her life.

If she’d been incapacitated, he would have had her removed from the hospital. And yes, he would have done that without telling anyone, including the sheriff. Sean wouldn’t have approved of the medical care, or lack thereof, that she might be getting in a small country hospital.

And had Sean then taken her to the house in the woods?

Probably not.

Alana leaned forward so she could lay her head on Jack’s desk. There weren’t many bare spots on the scarred oak, but there was plenty of stuff. A flyer showed a picture of a woman with the word missing beneath her name, Kinley Ford. Several old newspapers. An outdated chunky computer monitor, stacks of files, not one but two chipped coffee mugs, a half-eaten slice of chocolate cake on a saucer.

She saw the fax about the car she’d supposedly stolen and would have gotten angry all over again if she hadn’t spotted a framed photograph of Jack holding a baby boy. The baby wore denim overalls, a miniature cowboy hat and red boots. Both Jack and the baby were grinning.

Staring at the baby, Alana reached for the picture, but Jack snatched it away from her and put it into his center desk drawer.

“The doctor’s on his way here,” he relayed the second he hung up the phone.

That was good. But it wasn’t the doctor or her fever that had her attention now. It was the little boy in the picture. “Who’s Joey?” she asked.

Jack Whitley cursed under his breath. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

She flinched at his hard tone. “The fever, I guess. But you already know that. Please tell me—who’s Joey?”

For several long moments, he didn’t say anything. Alana was afraid he might not tell her. For reasons she didn’t understand, it was suddenly critical that she know.

“Joey’s the baby you gave birth to eight months ago,” Jack informed her. “W-what?”

Jack leaned in and got right in her face. “Joey’s the little boy you abandoned at Willow Ridge Hospital.” He stabbed his index fingers at her. “And if you think you can get him back after all this time, then think again. Because Joey is mine.”

Chapter Two

Jack felt as if someone had dropped a mountain on him.

The same woman who’d already given him the surprise of his life eight months ago on Christmas morning.

Alana Davis.

Now here she’d turned up again like a bad penny. Driving a stolen car and rattling off a story about being held captive.

A story he wasn’t buying.

Alana had some explaining to do.

She didn’t look much different now than she had when he’d fished her out of that frozen creek. She’d been wet then. Shivering, and scared, too.

Of course, she’d had a darn good reason to be scared. She’d nearly drowned and then had gone into shock and labor at the same time. It’d been a miracle that Jack hadn’t had to deliver the newborn right there in the cab of his truck. Thankfully, he’d gotten her to the hospital and Dr. Bartolo in the nick of time.

“I had a baby?” Alana asked.

It was a question that confused and riled Jack. Of course, just about everything Alana had ever done had confused and riled him. Maybe it was the fever causing her to act this way. Maybe not. But it didn’t matter. She’d made her decision about Joey the minute she walked out on him when he was barely a day old.

Now she’d have to live with that decision.

She couldn’t have a lick of a claim to Joey. Jack had been the only father the little boy had ever known. He wouldn’t lose him now, especially not to the mother who’d abandoned him, and Jack was certain he’d be able to convince a judge of that. She might have some legal rights as the birth mother, but those rights could be taken away.

“You don’t remember giving birth to a baby,” he said. Jack made sure it sounded as if he was accusing her of a Texas-size lie.

Tears sprang to her china-blue eyes, and her bottom lip trembled. She awkwardly swiped at her wet shoulder-length brown hair to push it away from her face. “Why are you saying this? Why are you telling these lies?” The tears and the trembling increased. “If I’d had a baby, I would have remembered.”

But the stark fear on her pale face said differently.

“Oh, you had a baby all right. Six pounds, two ounces,” he supplied.

She only shook her head.

And Jack saw something in those blue eyes that he hadn’t wanted to see. Something familiar that he’d garnered from eight years of being the sheriff of Willow Ridge. The harsh reaction of a woman who just might be telling the truth.

Oh, hell.

Groaning, he sank down in his chair and stared at her.

“While we’re waiting for the doctor, maybe we should start from the beginning,” he suggested. Somehow, he had to make sense of all of this and arrest her for auto theft or send her on her way. “You said you remember your car going into the creek?”

Alana nodded. “I remember that. You pulled me onto the muddy bank and gave me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. You saved my life.”

So far, so good. “And then you went into labor.”

Silence. For a long time. He could see the worry lines bunch up her forehead. “I don’t remember that part.” It seemed to break her heart to say it.

It damn near broke Jack’s, too. Of course, he had more at stake than she did. Joey was his son in every way that mattered. And he wouldn’t ever turn his back on that little boy the way Alana had.

“I took you to the hospital that day,” Jack continued, wondering what he was going to do if he actually jogged her memory. “We got there, and you had the baby on the way into the examining room.”

He watched those blue eyes to see if there was any recollection of that. But there didn’t seem to be any. Only more tears. Disgusted with the sympathy those tears were producing in him, he grabbed a handful of tissues from his desk drawer and shoved them at her.

“Wipe your eyes,” he insisted.

She did. It didn’t help, though. More tears followed. So did a helpless-sounding throaty moan. “Why don’t I remember? Why?”

“To hell if I know. You didn’t seem to have a memory problem when you were there at the hospital.” But even then, he’d thought there was something fishy about her story of how she’d gotten into the creek. Or what she was doing in Willow Ridge in the first place.

Alana stared at him. Blinked. “Maybe I had amnesia from the accident.”

Now it was Jack’s turn to shake his head. “The doctor thoroughly examined you. No head trauma. No trauma of any kind except for a bruise on your shoulder from the seat belt. I never heard of a seat belt bruise causing amnesia.”

“Emotional stress, then.” She sounded desperate to come up with an explanation, any explanation, of why she’d done something so despicable.

“You were fine after the delivery.” Jack didn’t bother to answer nicely. Every moment with her was like another mountain falling on him. “You even filled out the hospital paperwork.”

Including the birth certificate.

“You nursed Joey,” he continued. “Ate Christmas dinner that my aunt Tessie brought in for you. You slept a few hours. And then a little after one in the morning, you sneaked out of the hospital.”

She repeated that last sentence under her breath. A moment later, a spark flared across those blue irises. “That must have been when the guard and the nurse kidnapped me.”